Eureka! Love! Gimme Samoa!

Around 5 in the morning, in-bed Little Spoon Leigh Downs woke to a profoundly intense sensation, as Big Spoon Clark Barr continued to peacefully sleep, his arms wrapped gently and lovingly around her. {Holy rigatoni! There’s a hot fleshy redwood tree between my buns!} The entirety of the experience felt so soothing and loving, Leigh felt yet another momentary touch of vertigo—the “falling” for falling in love! It was all good: rationally she knew she wasn’t physically falling anywhere, and if she was, Clark was right there with her, at least somewhat literally embedded in her, as one.

{He feels huge. And he fits better because my butt’s fatter. No wonder he’s into BBW!}

She drifted back to sleep to the wonderful feelings, gently caressing one of his arms while she remained somewhat awake.

Daylight morning found Leigh and Clark lost to all-encompassing restful blissful love: mouths unable to speak, being too busy kissing, over and over. Hands unable to gesticulate, too busy obsessively caressing every possible in-reach sensual sexy surface of their lover. Their mutual love consumed them, temporarily obliterating awareness of the rest of the universe.

Sexual lovemaking eased into the mix in its own time, organically one as part of the whole of expressing their affectionate romantic caring love. It felt like a welcoming homecoming to them both as his love log logged in to her, shall we say, pleasure pocket. That was truly wonderful and felt great, but by no means was genital contact the center of attention even in the engorged heat of the moment—their glittering eyes upon each other or kissing lips (and sometimes wandering tongues) along with ever-caressing hands never let up, even as they added genital intercourse. It was about as all-encompassing as human loving can be!

Nearly an hour and a half after first both waking and getting into all this, they wound active loving down towards restful cuddling enough for the first words of the day to be spoken, by Leigh, still caressing him. “Any interest in being my cruise boyfriend, going steady with me?”

“Yes please (kiss). Sure you want to limit your options like that?”

“Given the various flavors of infection forever going around plus the famous new one, along with evolutionary forces within predisposing me as a human female to be choosy regarding with whom and how many I’m intimate, along with the insanely powerful love I feel for you and with you, yes I am totally good limiting my options. What about you, with your evolved predisposition to multiply mate?”

“Before you starting yesterday I’d already had more variety in days than I normally do in a year or two, at least. It speaks volumes—at least to me—that you’re the only one with whom I’ve awoken in the same bed in the morning on this voyage. I like variety. I believe many if not most humans crave new experiences and variety across the various genders and preferences. This love I’m feeling with you is terrifying in terms of its all-encompassing nature and addictive power.”

She caressed his cheek, a hint of whimper or whine in her voice, “Why would that be terrifying instead of beautiful?”

“Because my experience is it doesn’t last. At least not over the long term.”

“I’m not asking to be engaged to you {right now}, Neener (kiss). What I’m suggesting is long short-term: the remaining 8 days of our 15 day cruise loop cycle, until I get off at my home port.”

“You’re going to edge between now and arriving in San Diego before you next get off?!” he teased, laughing.

“Not with you anywhere near me, Mister Love Log!” She gave him a playful-not-hurtful backhand thwock to his upper chest.

“Is that all I am to you?”

“No, and you know it!” she exclaimed with a loud, long, deep punctuating smooch. “You’re everything and prolly too much to me, because if things keep going like this I won’t want to end it 8 days from now, or even dial it down.”

“I’ll keep an open mind about relocating to be near you, in the unlikely-to-me chance that my part of Us feels as strongly about being with you then as I do right now.” Smooch!

Moisture then a couple of tears rolled out of her eyes. “That means more to me than you have any idea. Having seen more of San Francisco, I’ll reciprocally keep an open mind about finding work near you.”

“Santa Clara where I am’s not the same thing. It’s more suburban, like a lot of Los Angeles County and where you are.” Kiss.

“I know. (kiss) So what are we doing today?”

“Do you know how giddy what you just said is making me feel?” Kiss.

“No.” Kiss.

“In the past I’ve usually been offended when a love interest gets all presumptuous about my doing things together with them. The fact that you and I are both assuming in all we say to one another that we’re going to remain together and do things together fills me with joy nearly to the point of tears.”

Conversation paused for a minute or so of intense cuddles and lip-devouring kissing.

“Since you asked, my vague thought for the day is to get off the ship for at least a few hours, since we’ll be on it the next couple of days again until docking in Portland. I’m not seeing much in the way of compelling stuff to do in or walking distance from Eureka, and a fair bit of disturbing negativity from the locals.”

“Like what negativity?”

“Junkies and addicts shooting up and acting as panhandlers around downtown and the waterfront area, mostly.”

“That would suck. I’d read that shopping is something to do, but we already know that’s not a goal of mine. Maybe just walking cuddly-close holding hands and looking at the architecture will be fun.”

“Breakfast on the ship, which frugal me would prefer? Or would you rather try something shoreside?”

“I’m frugal too, Neener (kiss). Let’s kiss and caress our way into clothes for once, and go get that going to keep at least me well-fed.”

The strong love force field Clark and Leigh projected everywhere they went on the Sapphire Prince triggered envy in several and jealousy in a few. A majority of onlookers felt a sense of “Awwwh!” seeing and feeling powerful true love in full bloom.

They made their affectionate way up to the Sky deck, for its open-air buffet—one of two open-air buffet restaurants on the ship, the third being indoors on a lower deck.

“I never knew this was called Jimmy’s Buffet” Leigh smiled, seeing the buffet’s sign for the first time.

“Either that sign wasn’t there before, or something was visually blocking it. Or maybe the change in latitude produced a change in attentive attitude?”

“Stop it, Mister 1970s Oldies” she laughed.

“Good thing you made that plural, otherwise I might have been offended” he smiled, squeeze-cuddling her affectionately.

The sudden appearance of an exceedingly large, soft presence sloshing up to the buffet serving area caught Clark’s attention and made Leigh jump. “Hey hey cush-loving crusiers!” her brash, full-of-life voice greeted them.

“G’morning Beryl. I don’t think you and Leigh have met yet, have you?”

“Soitenly not.” She turned more fully towards the new-to-her woman, shaking hands, “Big Beautiful Beryl Beech, in your presence and pleased to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, Beryl. I’m Leigh Down.”

“Great name! No wonder Clark’s all over you like butter on my toast will soon be. Bet he likes to lay you down, amIright?” Nudge, nudge.

“He’s definitely logged into me and pulled into my port. We’re both into each other enough that we’re cruise honeys.”

“Going steady” Clark clarified.

{Ohhh kay. Not my way of living!} “If that’s floating your boats and everything’s ship-shape, that’s golden. Hey Brian! What took you so long?”

A newly-arrived man neither Clark nor Leigh had previously seen (or if they had in passing, had not noticed), sidled up to and into Beryl. Long in roundness of his head and short on quantity of hair, the length of what there was of his brown-with-white “Caesar ring” of hair was also quite short. Tall and mixed hard-and-soft thick, his somewhat imposing physical presence was a good match for Beryl’s. Like her, he projected friendliness, in a more reserved manner.

“Needed to sleep in to throw off this lingering cough and energy drain. Hi you two, I’m Brian.”

Pull that hand back, fool! You’re coughing and you may have something, Mister Brian O’Brien. Do an elbow bump.”

“It’s not a dry cough” he noted.

Leigh offered the tip of her left elbow, “Leigh Down is my name.”

“And I’m Clark Barr.”

“Hah! We’re almost a sentence, all together: Brian O’Brien Leigh Down with a Clark Barr on Beryl Beech.” Hack hack! he coughed away from everyone, towards the ground.

Several other cruisers who heard him turned towards the source of the coughing, shooting cold, icy stares.

“That is a dry cough” declared Beryl, putting the back of her hand up against his forehead. “You are overheated, sir, even if not yet burning up. Please, for all that is good in our world, get thee back to your stateroom and isolate.”

“It’s just allergies.”

“Dude: we can’t take that chance! Now get outta here or at least keep a 2 meter distance from the rest of humanity.”

“CDC only requires 1 meter.”

“CDC wants anyone with symptoms quarantined in isolation! Now git!

Reluctantly, Brian left. Whether to his stateroom or another destination, no one knew.

“We’d better all wash up really carefully and start this oh-so-necessary morning feed again. First one of us back claim a table for all of us, please, where no one’s coughing nor otherwise projecting illness.”

Leigh and Clark were already parked at a so-far-otherwise-vacant large rectangular table, with his light and her generous self-assembled breakfasts, well before Beryl returned into view, much less loaded with fast-breaking comestibles and heading their way.

She parked her bulk across from them and diagonally offset, the sturdy seating creaking as she sat. “Social distancing, friends. Nothing personal, I assure you! I swear, I do not know what gets into some people. Hhhhh!”

They all felt the urge to dig into their breakfast before conversing further.

Seeing Leigh return to the buffet for seconds on the sausage prompted Beryl to comment upon her return, “Don’t know what your capacity is, my friend of fleshiness, but unless you’re at ninja nommer level as I am, you may find your Samoa Cookhouse experience diminished.”

“What is this cookhouse of which you speak?”

You haven’t heard of the Samoa Cookhouse?! Sister of Squish, allow me to drop the 411! Oh wait, we don’t do that any more in the new millennium. Is 411 even a thing any more?”

Both Clark and Leigh shrugged, neither of them knowing.

With the joy of a fat foodie professor teaching her fat food-loving class, Beryl explained, “The Samoa Cookhouse is one of the top must-visit foodie destinations on this cruise, for anyone who loves to eat! Visualize… An authentic logging camp cookhouse going back a century and still going. Food served family-style at big, long tables—like this except 3 times as long. Maybe twice; something like that. Anyway…. Nothing to pick, because just like when they served the mighty hungry lumberjacks over a century ago, they serve the one entree per day the cook chooses to make, along with all of soup or salad, cookhouse bread, vegetable, potato, dessert, and coffee or tea. All you can eat, friend, for one low fixed price of 15 bucks a person for lunch, which is the only meal to which any of us will be able to do justice, given our ship’s itinerary.”

“But is it any good?”

“It’s basic American logging camp cookhouse food, so it’s not likely to pass muster with Chef Froofy-froo nor any of his peers—which reminds me, I’m so glad Royal Prince has figured out how to track newly-boarded passengers such that only the freshly boarded have to go through the muster drill at their boarding port. But I digress. It’s all about quantity more than quality, but unless things have shitholed, the quality is plenty good enough to keep us hungry honeys wanting more until we simply can’t. It is scratch-made rather than pre-fab, so that ought to be a plus in nearly everyone’s book. It may not exactly be a gainer’s and feedist’s heaven, but it’s a damn nice purgatory on the way up! I know I’m looking forward to packing on some more pounds of luxurious sensual fat, all the way from around when they open for lunch at 11 ’til they’re easing me out the door at the end of lunch at 3.”

The excited look on her face when Leigh turned towards Clark wordlessly let him know that she agreed with his genitals that this was something which needed to happen. Had he reached down to feel hers, he would have discovered that her genitals agreed with his.

During their brief exchange, Beryl took the opportunity to look something up on her handheld, wearing her reading glasses. “Sez here on their Faceskank page that today they’re serving Southern Fried Chicken Breasts for lunch. All we can eat fried chicken! How can ya go wrong wi’ that?!”

“I could go in half on yours and we could share, given how little I’m likely to want.”

“Don’t be a cheapskate, Clark!” Beryl scolded. “First, 15 a pop for all you can eat is more than fair in today’s world for even light eaters such as yourself. Second, they’re harsh on those who try and pull what you’re doing. To each his and her own meal, period. Respect that. Respect the history. Given your FA proclivities, consider your possibly underutilizing yours an investment in lovingly being there for and with Leigh, as she joins me maximizing each of our meal costs.”

“Alright, points taken.”

“So you two in on this?”

“Do we have to do things as a group?” asked Leigh.

“It’s on Samoa, that island over yonder, not in the city of Eureka. This is car country: not a lot of public transit, and not necessarily any I’d personally want to ride. Mister O’Contagion was going to be my accomplice and ride finder, but that’s obviously not happening. What I’m hoping is we can pool coin for a cheap rent-a-wreck for the day, maybe land cruising around a bit to catch some redwoods or something until they open for lunch, or after lunch before our ship sails.”

“I really wanted to walk around Old Town Eureka.”

“How about we finish our breakfast noms, each get back to our staterooms and get ready, and work out the finer points on the dock in, say… half an hour? Is that long enough?”

They agreed it was, and that this plan would work for them.

“This looks cleaner and more junkie-free than I expected” Leigh confided to Clark as they set foot upon Schneider Dock, to the soundtrack of several seagulls flying overhead beneath the morning clouds.

“What I read was several years old. It doesn’t necessarily take a long time to work things out such that that particular issue may have been resolved, or at least attenuated sufficiently.”

“Eureka! You’ve found us!” a bright-eyed booming-voiced brownish-red-haired woman standing behind a black cloth-covered rectangular table greeted them, with an ending giggle. The thin gold chain necklace on her bright red long sleeve cable-knit top followed gravity’s will as she extended her hand for a welcoming shake, “Hi, I’m– oh right, we’re supposed to social distance” she remembered, quickly withdrawing her hand. “Six feet apart and let’s wave at each other. Hiiiiii! I’m Zazz from the Eureka Chamber of Commerce, welcoming you to our historic city.”

“Zaz?” Clark queried.

“It’s Zazu, legally” she more softly admitted. “I prefer Z-A-double Z, but anything polite that’s close to either works for me. Even Hey Chamber of Commerce Lady!, but that’s too many syllables.”

“Whadid I tell you about too many syllables, Clark?” a newly-arrived voice commented.

“Rebecca! Per!” he grinned, annoying Leigh via greeting Rebecca with a hug before his handshake with Per, very obviously paired with Rebecca (at least for now). To Zazz he turned and explained, “We all know each other and have been close in various combinations, so if any of us have anything, we’re all already exposed.” He quickly eased back against Leigh and expedited the introductions between them.

“You all going around as a group?” Zazz asked the group once the introductions concluded.

“Hadn’t planned on it” replied Rebecca, asking Leigh and Clark, “What are you two doing?”

“We’re thinking of a romantic walking tour of Old Town, then if we can work out the logistics driving over together with Beryl to the Samoa Cookhouse” Leigh answered. “Have you met Beryl yet?”

“No.” {Her reputation precedes her, as does her belly.}

“I just met her this morning at breakfast.”

“I’m not one for walking, other than over a limited area such as an arts district.”

“We have one of those” Zazz piped up. “Nice pleasant flat 1 mile walk east of here onto F Street. There’s the Morris Graves Museum of Art in the old Carnegie library at 636 F Street, though it’s not open until noon today.”

“That’s too bad. We have to be over in Samoa at 11.”

“You’re going to the Cookhouse too?” asked Leigh, somewhat hoping the answer was no, so she’d have less competition for Clark’s attention.

“My date for the day and I have decided that it’s a can’t-miss opportunity. Though the museum is tempting.”

“They’re open today until 5, so maybe you could catch it after lunch” suggested Zazz. “Ink People Center for the Arts is only half a block east of the Graves on Seventh, and they’ll be open from as soon as any of us could walk or fast jog from here to there, through 5. If you find yourself wandering north to Second and E, or make a point of doing so, the Old Town Art Gallery is there for you, open 10 to 5 today.”

Rebecca turned to Per, “I’m not gonna want to be walking much of anywhere after lunch, if things play out the way we’re thinking they might.”

“Hey hey crew!” Beryl called out as she slowly waddled ever-nearer. Once she arrived amongst the group she asked, “Are we all worked out on who’s arranging the ride and what we’re doing? Hey there Per’s paired peach! I’m Beryl.”

“Good to meet you. I’m Rebecca, the wannabe Cali girl of 20 years who according to native son Clark has yet to shake the born-and-bred New Yawwwker out. I was just saying I’m not intending to walk much after a Samoa Cookhouse lunch, so any art galleries or museums are going to have to happen now or soon, pre-lunch.”

“You’re going with us too?! Awesomme! We can all rent a bulky babe-capable SUV together and do our own group tour!”

“Clark and I really wanted to walk the downtown, or wherever the older buildings are.”

“Old Town is what you want for that” Zazz advised.

“There’s always an athletic hiker BoBerry-type BBW amongst us” Beryl sighed. “Good on you, Leigh; you’ll prolly outlive us all.”

“Any suggestions for car rentals?” Per asked Zazz.

“I wouldn’t know what qualifies as a ‘bulky babe-capable SUV’, but give both Hertz and Rent-A-Dent-A calls.”

The group moved aside so others coming off the ship could be greeted by Zazz and access the greeting table none of them had truly inspected.

It is unlikely that any 2 lovers have ever been more lost to love of each other than Leigh Down and Clark Barr. Their love force field apparently joined in with moisture in the air to create a deep, thick pea soup love fog. Invisible to the eye, it affected the romantic hearts of those who neared them. For the loving pair themselves, it wholly enveloped them. Everything about Old Town Eureka looked prettier and nicer than it actually was, through their loving mental filters.

As they meandered near an outdoor supply store, the sound of a very brief horn Beep! caught their attention.

They could see Beryl leaning out the window of a decent-looking generously-sized SUV. They along with everyone within half a block heard her yell, “Hey lovers! Stop walking off all the good stuff and get in here with us! It’s cookhouse tiiiiimee!

Driver Per eased the vehicle into the parking lot immediately in front of the pedestrian pair.

Leigh was displeased to find out how relatively little space there was. With Per and Rebecca in the front seats, big Beryl in the back, and this being a 2-row vehicle and not a 3, it was going to be a squishy ride no matter what the seating order.

“You’re welcome to sit into me if you want” Beryl told Leigh, seeing her hesitation (and her blocking Clark’s entrance). “I thought we’d all be better off with Clark in the middle.”

{I don’t want to share him! Especially not with you as his very recent huge and sexy lover he might decide he prefers!} she irrationally thought.

“Whatever you two wanna do, let’s please do it. We don’t want to be late for this.”

After a whispered conversation with Clark, Leigh was good. He climbed in and settled himself a normal polite seating distance from Beryl, welcoming his hefty heartthrob atop his lap.

“That’ll work” Beryl nodded as Leigh pulled the door closed. “Let’s roll!

Leigh needn’t have worried: Clark thought of no one else nor even did more than politely and briefly glance at anyone else the whole way over, intoxicated as he was with everything about her.

Even independent Beryl became slightly envious of the immersive love Leigh was receiving. “Better turn the love defrost on, Per: these two are steaming things up so much, soon you’ll not be able to see to drive!”

“Wouldn’t the defrost just make their love hotter, and worsen the situation?” he asked in reply.

Rebecca had a whole other musing, “What I want to know is how flat Clark’s going to come out if we’re in this seating arrangement after lunch.”

“If we’re seated like this and Leigh eats anywhere near as much as maybe you and definitely I am going to eat, not only will Clark be crushed, he won’t be able to get his arms all the way around her wasted waist.”

“I’ll be crushed more than that if I fail to love this amazing woman to anything less than my full ability.”

Clark’s romantic comment made Rebecca feel the need to reach across for a hand squeeze from Per. Beryl contented herself visualizing all she was going to eat, and how much fatter it would make her.

Digestive systems rumbled within the rented SUV as the Samoa Cookhouse came into view. Leigh found herself as taken by the 1890s architecture as anticipation of the forthcoming feast. The long, quirky, partly 2-story partly 1 red-painted clapboard-covered building had enough differently-sized and -shaped white-border windows that she had to wonder whether the sections were built at different times, or if they were using up surplus windows as available. The unassuming red-on-white sign on the side of the building said nothing more than Samoa Cookhouse, presumably because nothing more needed to be said.

The interior proved as authentic as the exterior: white painted wood board walls and ceilings, red drapes, standard red and white checkered tablecloths (albeit modern plastic coated for sanitary reasons and practicality), helmets and boots hung on the wall, real deal old-timey paddle ceiling fans, and more.

“This place never changes,” Beryl grinned, “and that’s a good thing.”

“It’s like a museum” commented Clark.

“It is a museum!” Leigh excitedly pointed out, pointing towards the separate museum room signed COOKHOUSE & LOGGING RELICS with a white on black narrow sign over the wide entryway.

“Later, kids. Time to eat!

Being the middle of the week in March it wasn’t crowded. Being the Samoa Cookhouse and the first day of operation for the week, it wasn’t empty. Each of the many identical rectangular tables sat 10 standard-sized people, 5 to a side in individual chairs.

Beryl parked herself across 2 adjacent chairs not quite in the middle of one side of her chosen table: one along the exterior wall nearest the hung colorful hard hats and one of the larger historic pictures.

“Why don’t you move one seat towards the aisle, so Per can be next to you and me next to him?” Rebecca suggested.

“Because you’re gorgeously huge and I’m gorgeously huge, so it makes sense to me that we should be on opposite sides.”

“But if we’re all over there, that’s 4 of us all on one side.”

“If the love barnacles are over here with me and you and Per are over there, it’s a 3-2 split. Wouldn’t you rather already be sitting pretty and that much closer to food?”

“What if Leigh needs more than one seat?” asked Clark, embarrassing the woman in question.

Beryl looked at him like it was a ridiculous question. “She’ll park her overflow on your lap as always.”

Leigh got things moving taking the wall-nearest seat on Beryl’s side, leaving the one between them for Clark. Per held Rebecca’s 2 wall-nearest seats across from Leigh and Clark to keep them in place as she sat, thereafter taking the middle seat next to his day date, across from Beryl and almost from Clark.

With the only choices to be made being soup or salad and coffee or tea, ordering (such as it was) went lightning fast. Beryl, Per, and Rebecca all had the hearty vegetable soup. Clark and Leigh had the green salad. Entree veggie of the day for lunch was green beans; seasoned potato wedges were the potato option. Clark, Per, and Rebecca had tea; Beryl and Leigh had coffee. Tempting as it was to dig right into the rectangles of carrot cake with smooth glossy white vanilla frosting being served for dessert, only Leigh fell for this beginner fail.

Beryl noticed, advising, “If your system’s anything like mine, starting with dessert may confuse it, leading to reduced overall consumption.”

“What if she’s not trying to push a limit?” Per suggested, in part trying to be a good M&M.

“Then she may be at the wrong lunch venue. Not that I’d know, since I always eat here when I’m passing gas– uh, passing through this area, but sure looked to me like there were a good dozen places in Eureka I’d be parking my posterior and filling my face if I lived around here and wanted a change of pace. But what am I doing talking so much?! There’s food to eat!”

There was, and they all did. Nevertheless over the course of the hours of paced eating and drinking, there were numerous opportunities to share what they’d each been doing around Eureka earlier as a conversational starting point, moving from there to other non-contentious subjects (to keep everyone’s digestive systems calm and optimized).

Somewhat after 1 PM when one of the servers was back for the umpteenth time, Beryl asked around the table regarding what might be needed. “More brrreaaaasts for bigger breasts, right ladies?”

Everyone agreed that more fried chicken breasts would be good, with Clark and Per each getting a second wind after taking very long breaks from eating anything. Only Leigh felt the stabbing pains of breast envy and knowing that even if she could and did eat all the chicken breasts on the premises, her breast growth would be minuscule. Looking at Beryl’s and especially Rebecca’s existing massive orbs, the latter directly across from her and so tantalizingly eye-catching obvious, made the envy thus the pain worse.

Clark felt her tension. He didn’t need to know exactly what was going on with her (though he had a fairly good idea) to be able to soothe her via affectionate caresses and light hip fat squeezes.

Given how she knew she excelled at generating and carrying wide, fat hips, this did indeed soothe her. So did defying Beryl’s suggestion and interleaving more slices of cake with the savory items, so far with no deleterious effect on her eating.

Per and Clark looked on in amazement as the 3 BBW they loved (or had loved) kept right on going well into the 2 PM hour—the final hour of lunch. Per barely had enough room to sip his tea; Clark was too full for even that.

Yes, there was a hint of competition between the women, each for their own exact reason(s). Mostly they all 3 truly were big eaters with big capacities, even if 2 of them hadn’t been exercising their capacities anywhere near their full range in any recent month, or year.

Three absolutely packed absolutely huge women exited the Samoa Cookhouse just past 3 PM. The only reason Leigh Down stopped a quarter hour before Beryl and Rebecca was so she and Clark could look in the museum. Given how stuffed she was and how tight her clothes were, it wasn’t easy!

Getting back in the SUV proved amusing. Not only was it a challenge, once inside neither Rebecca nor Beryl could fasten their seatbelts—and they each had extenders in place already!

“How ya doin’, Clark?” Beryl asked, once everyone was inside (in the same seating arrangement as before).

“I definitely feel the difference.”

“What are we doing?” asked driver Per.

“Anybody up for a road trip?”

Uuuaagh! No thank you!” was Rebecca’s response to Beryl’s question.

“Bouncing and movement is suboptimal, so no please” was Leigh’s.

“I’m with them. Back to the ship please, kind sir.”

He eased them on their way, driving as gently as he knew how.

Unsurprisingly, none of the fully-fed feedees/gainers (at least on this day at this meal) wanted to walk any more than necessary. Per managed to drive them all the way in as far as possible near Schneider Dock, minimizing their walk to under 200m, all the way from the SUV to onto the Sapphire Prince.

Being a pro at being routinely enormous and more so after a huge meal, Beryl waddled her way up the gangway and to her stateroom solo.

Rebecca wanted Per’s help, and the vehicle wasn’t sitting in any sort of even medium-term parking space. Clark and Leigh agreed to wait in the vehicle whilst Per helped guide, spot, and possibly support Rebecca on her overstuffed slow shuffle back to her stateroom. Per left the keys in the vehicle in case they needed to move it during his absence.

“Oy. (huff) This is… (puff). Wow, that was a big lunch (huff)” Rebecca gasped out between labored breaths, on her struggle up the gangway.

Sad though he was regarding whatever exact discomfort she was feeling, Per couldn’t help being profoundly aroused being so near her, seeing how vastly much fat she carried, and how so much of her was in sensual motion. Tempting as it was to his instincts to move faster towards intimacy with her, his mind well-heeded Clark’s advice, holding those instincts at bay.

He wound up being a very good approximation to a perfect FA gentleman, getting her comfortably settled in her stateroom with all she needed, then leaving her in peace.

“Thanks, Per! See you!” Clark called out as he and Leigh waved, the rental SUV easing away from them back into town and its rental agency home.

Turning towards her man, powerful love overcame Leigh’s physical discomfort. There on the dock, she clasped each of his hands in hers, easing them together for a kiss.

Something made this process more difficult than usual, however.

“Even rationally knowing how much you ate, I cannot believe how big and relatively firm your belly is.”

“Lean over more and let’s kiss please, then take me inside.”

“How do you mean that last clause?”

“We’ll talk, later.”


Heeeeee huuuuuuu. Heeeeee huuuuuuu


Coughs, wheezing, and more could be heard all over the Upper Promenade Deck, from passing-by cruisers in the halls with them, others they passed by standing out in the hallway, and even from behind closed doors of staterooms they passed.

This sounds more like a hospital ward than a cruise ship” Clark near-whispered to lover Leigh as she waddled and he walked with her through the deck’s interior hallways, towards her stateroom.

I know. It’s freaky!

Thankfully things were quiet, lovely, and peaceful within Leigh’s stateroom, once they were inside with the door closed.

“Why are you so diligently working to get me out of my clothes when yours are so much more confining?”

“Silly Neener!: I need to see what your neener does when you undress me.”

“My neener’s nearly always at least half grown any time I’m around you.”

Once he was fully nude, she presented herself for undressing.

Footwear and socks were straightforward, unexpectedly exciting to her when he spontaneously massaged her feet.

“Big Yes on the foot massage, but please pretty please once I’m freed from these constraining garments.”

“Damn, Chonk! I can’t believe you haven’t popped any buttons yet!”

“It’s getting close. You’re going to have to start with the pants since my top’s tucked into them, even though that may make removing the top anticlimactic.”

“Taking your clothes off is never anticlimactic” he definitively assured her. “Can you breathe in at all?”


“No, that’s just making it tighter.”

“I’ll breathe out all the way, now.” Hhaaaaaaaaaa.

The struggle was real. Nevertheless, working as a team, Clark barely managed to get her vastly over-tight pants unbuttoned then unzipped. “Jeezo Piezoelectric, you’re huge!

“You’re not finished yet. Are you going to unbutton my top and get it off me, or shall I?”

Diligently he got to work, starting from the bottom, where it was tightest. Soon enough it was off her. Moments later, so was her bra.

“Lordy Berry Gordy! Your panties are buried so deep in you!”

“Believe me I know! Care to get them off of me now, pretty please?”

To Clark’s amazement, even sliding this overburdened undergarment off proved difficult: its elastic was already stretched to its absolute limit! Once all of her belly was out of it (and only somewhat under half had been in it, the remainder of removal proved straightforward, if still not necessarily easy.

“Ahhhhhh” she sighed with relief the moment they were off and she was fully nude. “So nice to finally be able to breathe freely again.”

“Damnation Plantation!”


“Are you OK, Chonky? Those are wicked deep garment indentations!”

“They’ll go away, now that you’ve freed my flesh.”

Watching her slosh into a more comfortable, restful position atop the bed led to another exclamation, “You’re massive!

“Thank you.”

“You look like you’re loaded with quadruplets and near term!”

“Thankfully I have no idea what that would actually be like. Prob-ly about this size, though.”

The way she gently rubbed her own hugely-distended belly looking peaceful and contented shot a powerful jolt of lust through Clark.

“Care to get back to that foot massage whilst I take care of my belly like this?” she gently smiled his way.

She didn’t need to ask twice: he was her cruise boyfriend, utterly lost to loving her. Anything he could possibly do for her even remotely within his comfort zone and ability, he’d do.

Over in her stateroom, Rebecca struggled with whether she felt comfortable inviting Per over to gently rub her belly and otherwise care for her. The desire and need were assuredly there; the problem being her longstanding unease exposing her middle body to anyone she’d yet to get to know and trust exceedingly well.

Beryl Beech had no such qualms over in her stateroom. By chance, she’d been respectfully and politely propositioned by a pair of identical twins, who candidly admitted neither of them had ever done it with a very fat woman, and hoped for the opportunity. Beyond being easygoing and dignified, empowered easy, her experience equipped her to be good at reading people. These two brothers, Devin and Kevin Cleven, very clearly came across to her as subbish—and horny, like her!

During their soft private hallway discussion, she explained her fullness situation and that it would be many hours of worshipping her in ways which let her rest and kept pressure off her belly until her body had time to digest her massive meal before they could get into “the good stuff” (her exact words).

Her estimation of their intent, orientation, and abilities paid off: she was currently enjoying arousing, sexual gentle caresses, kisses, and licks all over her body as she lay restfully and comfortably atop her bed. So were they.

By this time over in Leigh’s stateroom, Clark was cuddled up next to her, lost to the bliss of caressing her swollen belly. She lost herself equally to slowly caress-stroking his to-her breathtakingly engorged flesh banana.

Motion through the outside window/door caught his attention. “Looks like we’re sailing.”

She looked, then nodded. “We may be on the water and back in motion, but I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.”

“Yes, these are especially nice beds.”

“Being with you, Neener! (kiss). That’s what really has me floating on a cloud. (kiss)”

Hhhnnnnn” she softly sighed, “I’ve always dreamt of a man able to seamlessly combine deep romantic affection and restful all-out sexuality at the same time.”

“Hopefully I’m that man. At least for the duration of this cruise.”

“You’re not like this all the time?”

“I think I am, but the concept has never been tested. I was thinking more about the eventual end of the cruise, and going back to our separate lives.”

“Don’t think about that tonight, please. Not only is it a sad thought—to me, at least—but it’s the future. As always, thinking about the future or the past takes one out of the present.”

“How Buddha-like, for which you certainly have the belly. (kiss)”

“Kiss my Buddha belly too, please” she asked, her eyes heavy from relaxation, bliss, and tiredness.

Letting him reposition himself to kiss her belly did mean that she needed to let go of his neener. The orgasm which caught both of them wholly by surprise set in motion by the unexpectedly sensual sensations of his repeated, varied kisses all over her bloated belly made this letting go of gland a minor loss.

Another brief look out the window brought a moment of wistfulness to Clark. “Goodbye Eureka” he softly sighed.

“I’ve taken a good bit of neighboring Samoa with us” Leigh smiled, bringing his attention back to her belly via her hand claiming and moving his atop it. “Of which, come on back up here and cuddle next to me, so you can gimme Samoa whole body edge affectionate intimate cuddly love, and I can give you Samoa of the world’s slowest hand job.”

“Your hand job is just my speed” he smiled as he repositioned per her request. “Faster ones are too intense for me. You’re an Angry Samoans fan, I take it?”

She shook her head slightly, looking unsure. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“California punk band from the late 1970s. Who, as far as I could tell from the few photos I ever saw of the band members, had no actual Samoan members. Their full catalog CD compilation album was titled Gimme Samoa: 31 Garbage Pit Hits.”

“Wait—did they do that song about Rodney Bingenheimer needing to get off the air?”

“That’s them.”

“Alright. I know at least one out of the 31. Are you big into punk rock?”

“Nah, not any more. It mattered a generation or two ago, less so now. Very negative culture, too. I still like to hear some of the old songs on occasion, but it hasn’t been a big part of my life since we were young and it was new and the current happening thing. What about you?”

“I was more New Wave than punk: more poppy and upbeat. Except when I got my Goth on. Musically—I never dressed the part.”

They cuddled and sexually caressed quietly for awhile. Occasionally they could hear the waves breaking against the coast they were at the moment leaving for the open ocean. More frequently they heard (and tried to ignore) occasional loud, labored coughing from other nearby staterooms. It sounded as though those doing it were coughing things up.

“I’m assuming you’re not going to want dinner tonight.”

“I’m not?”

“You are?!”

“I’m not going to eat a big meal like at lunch, but yes, I was planning to get a little something small and light. Maybe a salad, delivered by room service, with tea we brew here. Hopefully kindly you, so I can lie here and continue converting lunch into more fat.” Giggle giggle

“What’s giving you the giggles?”

“The way you nearly instantly got a lot harder when I told you I plan to have something for dinner.”


“Don’t apologize! I know what this is about—you and your needs.”

“Desires aren’t needs.”

“Extremely strong ones can be. Like your need for romantically and sexually loving very fat women, and my need to now and then let go of life constraints and eat freely. Thankfully these deep needs of ours happened to meet on this cruise, hence this glorious love. (kiss)”

“What life constraints keep you from eating freely during the normal course of your life?”

“The main one is the entire category of mainstream society’s fat hate, phobia, and/or disgust, none of which I hope I have to explain to you, seasoned FA that you are.”

“Granted we’re all different and you’re not Beryl, but none of those things seem to be stopping her.”

“I don’t know what-all she’s about. Clearly she’s a forthright, bold gainer and maybe also a feedee, and from what I gather running high in terms of sex drive. Is she a sex worker?”

“Sex professional? No.”

“They’re professionals now?!”

“They’ve always been! Just not given that respect. Out of one side of the mouth people call them names like ‘prostitute’, the out of the other side of the same mouth say ‘oldest profession in the world’. Can’t have it both ways: it’s a profession or it isn’t. I think it is, I think they’re professionals right up there with physicians and attorneys and definitely at or above engineers such as myself.”

Pffffft!” she blew off the idea. “Do you moonlight as the ad agency for a brothel or something?”


“Regular customer?”

“I’ve never once been with a sex professional. These are people who not only have to monitor the pulse of their marketplace and provide services accordingly in line with their abilities and interests, they have to have wicked mad customer service skills! It’s daunting enough when an independent contractor or a business has an irate customer after them at arms-length or greater distance, but it’s a whole other bunch of levels up having one intimately touching you, likely with all of both your clothes off! Independents who aren’t working in some system or service or firm like a brothel have the whole sales layer on top of that, demanding even more professionalism out of them. On what planet do people doing this sort of risky high-level skilled work get called anything less than professionals?! To me it’s all about respect. I don’t use their services for my own reasons, but as a class and unless proven otherwise for certain individuals who may not be at that level, they have my full respect.”

“What about those of us who would never consider that line of work?”

“You all have my total respect too!” He added a series of kisses to further emphasize his reply. “So you’re not Beryl, we don’t know what’s up with her and it’s not relevant to you in any case. I do clearly keep in my mind what you said about being into the food and not the fat side-effect, which to me is the primary feature. I’m clear on the nauseatingly awful situation with large-sized women’s clothing in terms of price, availability, lack of reasonable fit, and so on. I’m angered by the medical system’s blindness to their own fat hate, but then I’m angered by orthodox medicine in general, and especially as practiced in the U.S. in any recent decade. Though I’ve not personally experienced it because of my body and gender presentation being totally different, via plentiful reading I at least mostly understand the incessant bullshit fat people continue to endure after far, far too long and the good work of many individuals and a few organizations like NAAFA. What I am struggling to understand is why if foodie joy is a need for you, you feel you have to suppress that need during your regular life and only fulfill it on occasional vacations such as this. Or am I hilariously off-base with your reality?”

“No, you’re pretty much there. In terms of needing to suppress, seems to me it’s the same reason you probably don’t bone BBW at work where you work. We all—OK, most of us—have needs we may not be able to fulfill whenever we want. Living in our consensus reality, I don’t enjoy the fatness side-effect, which always happens when I meet my foodie needs. I balance that by some foodie fulfillment in the course of my normal life along with lots of gym time, so I stay chunky instead of chonky because thinness is not an option for my body makeup and genetics, and to minimize the fat hate, ignorance, and all that and maximize the accessible, affordable clothing options, medical gowns, blood pressure cuffs, chairs and related seating, and other aspects of participating in normal life in our world.”

“Hypothetically, how would you feel about the fat side-effect of your foodie joy if we lived in a world where society was at least as neutral about body fat as it is about eye color, or maybe more neutral?”

“That’s not a fair question to ask when you’re making me want to bond with you forever via your ultra-sexy-sensual caresses of my bulging belly.”

“Why not?”

{Is it not obvious?!} “Because I’m lost to love of every kind with you including passionate sexual love and everything about being fatter drives you even more wild and in love with me wholly beyond your control and totally under my control in terms of my fattening, which dovetails with my foodie lust! That’s why! And that’s why I’m more than OK doing what we did today, being here now with you doing what we’re doing now including having this conversation, why I fully intend to keep eating for the duration of this cruise or nearly that long as my food joy dictates and especially if it enhances the passion aspects of our love. That’s also why I’m torn between going to the gym tomorrow for a good workout, recalling what you told me about the world being your gym and that you’re not a gym person thus you’ll not likely accompany me there, or whether to blow off the gym for maximum fat side-effect, thus maximum loving sex-positive romance between us.”

“Think they’ll let me watch you from the outside? Seeing a fat woman in tights with her fat rolling, sloshing, swaying, and bouncing all over the place as she’s working out is a real turn-on” he lasciviously grinned.

“Even though it means I’m burning off some of the fat?”

“Yes, because everyone needs exercise and movement for health, and most especially because it’s your body and it makes you happy to exercise. I’d be an idiot FA to block you or anyone’s joy of movement!”

“Dammit Neen! You’re making me love you more than I already do, and that’s not possible!” she exhorted, pulling him into an even deeper on-bed side cuddle with her.

“If they won’t let me watch from outside, or maybe even if they would, as long as my presence in the gym won’t take away from another cruiser’s gym opportunity, I’ll go to the gym with you tomorrow whenever you go.”

The thought shot a powerful burst of joyous energy through Leigh. “You will?!

“That’s what I just said, yes. Under the conditions described. I don’t even have to be behind you staring at your stunning and stunningly fat ass and hips, much as I’d prefer that. Nor was my expression of my on-you clothing preference any sort of requirement.”

“Stretchy black leggings are all I’m going to be able to fit into tomorrow, that I brought with me. I’ll look fat as fuck in them, but that’s OK because it’ll keep your neener big and hard for the righteous fat fuck we’ll enjoy back here after the gym and before we shower.”

More in love than ever, Leigh Down and Clark Barr had many other exciting exercise-related discussions to share this night, as the Sapphire Prince glided north along the western coast of the United States, for the near-term leaving California behind.